Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight cutting through the gloom of the attic. Finn clutched the faded photograph, his grandmother’s smiling face mocking his current state. He’d promised to visit every week. He had failed.

He had expected to feel nostalgia, perhaps sadness. Instead, a dull ache throbbed behind his eyes, a feeling he wanted to dislodge by any means. He ran a hand through his hair, leaving trails of cobwebs. This whole inheritance felt tainted.

He hadn’t been a good grandson. His career, his girlfriend, his entire life had become so self-absorbed. The house, the photograph, the memories – they were all accusing fingers. He wanted to run, to disappear, to pretend this wasn't happening.

His sister, Maya, called up the stairs, her voice cheerful, "Find anything good?" He couldn’t bring himself to answer, to face her knowing, innocent smile.